Wednesday of the fourteenth week of the year

The Lord looks on those who revere him,
    on those who hope in his love,
to rescue their souls from death,
    to keep them alive in famine.
                                      Psalm 32 [33]

.         .       .

The first reading from today is about the famine in Egypt, the first episode in the story of Joseph's reunion with his brothers in Egypt. It is one of my childhood favorites, the story of Joseph and his many-colored coat, his fall and rise again in Egypt, and his restoration to his family. It made a great musical.

But it's more complicated than that, isn't it? Joseph must have been a really annoying kid. He told his older brothers that he would rule over them, and his father singled him out. Now that I have a 9-year-old son who has his challenging days, I can imagine how aggravated his brothers must have been. Not, of course, that they can be excused for getting rid of him. Turns out, though, that it wasn't such a bad thing after all: God chose 'to keep them alive in famine' through the very wrong act they committed.

Now, I should have seen that before. It is a picture of redemption bigger than the one I had five minutes ago. Really. Although I am a big fan of Romans 8:28 ('God works all things together for the good...'), I tend not to include intentional sins in that 'everything' that God causes to work for the good of 'those who hope in his love.' So, as I look back over my life and cringe as I remember things I shouldn't have done, I don't need to worry so much about the 'what if I hadn't...?' and the 'what if, instead, I had...?' No. Certainly things would have turned out differently. And I might have been spared some grief, as surely Joseph's brothers might have if they had borne with their brother's vexing attitude. But the purposes of God would not be served any less. I cannot thwart the saving purposes of God.

Does that mean I shouldn't worry about whether I am acting in accordance with God's will? Of course not--as St Paul says. But I can act in faith, knowing that even if I have read wrongly, God will still 'keep [me] alive in famine': the thing is to 'hope in his love'. He's God. That's all he asks of us.

Deo gratias.

St Thomas the Apostle

You are a part of the building that has the apostles and prophets for its foundations...
                                                                                                       Ephesians 2: 19

. . .

Once again, I find I have been completely outdone by Pope Francis. His daily homilies are a source of encouragement, and challenge me to practice my faith more consistently. He said:

"We find Jesus’ wounds in carrying out works of mercy, giving to our body – the body – the soul too, but – I stress - the body of your wounded brother, because he is hungry, because he is thirsty, because he is naked because it is humiliated, because he is a slave, because he's in jail because he is in the hospital. Those are the wounds of Jesus today. And Jesus asks us to take a leap of faith, towards Him, but through these His wounds. 'Oh, great! Let's set up a foundation to help everyone and do so many good things to help '. That's important, but if we remain on this level, we will only be philanthropic. We need to touch the wounds of Jesus, we must caress the wounds of Jesus, we need to bind the wounds of Jesus with tenderness, we have to kiss the wounds of Jesus, and this literally. Just think of what happened to St. Francis, when he embraced the leper? The same thing that happened to Thomas: his life changed. " 

I like to stay at arms length: give to cafod, support the Missionaries of Charity, that sort of thing. But the neighbor in need deserves my attention equally. Attention to the poor is attention to Jesus...how often I forget that!

I am grateful for the words of Pope Francis, and for the example set for us by the saints. 

St Thomas, pray for us.

St Augustine Zhao Rong and companions, martyrs

But as for me, I shall walk in my integrity;
Redeem me, and be gracious to me.
My foot stands in a level place;
In the congregations I shall bless the Lord.
                                                             Psalm 26[25]: 11-12


And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him. and behold, there arose a great storm in the sea, so that the boat was covered with waves; but he himself was asleep. And they came to him, and awoke him, saying, 'Save us, Lord; we are perishing!' And he said to them, 'Why are you timid, you men of little faith? Then he arose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and it became perfectly calm.
                                                              Matthew 8: 23-26

.        .       .

Maybe this is one of those days when the readings just happen to fall on the same day, without an inherent connection (as is usually the case for Sundays). The first reading was from Genesis, about the fate of Lot's wife, and of Sodom and Gomorrah. Don't look back! Then the psalmist speaks confidently of stability and security before God--or does he? I am fascinated by the prayer for mercy in the midst of assurance. It is as if to say that all that we do is not what redeems us: God's grace is what redeems us. Integrity and right worship might contribute to our hope that God will redeem us by his grace; our practice, however faithful, is not sufficient.

And grace--there he is, God's grace come to dwell among us, asleep in the boat while the storm rages. That's a confidence beyond that of the psalmist, I think. I love this passage, I confess. It is short, but to the point: here is the one who calms the storm. My storms tend to be of a different kind, but just as dark and sometimes just as violent. Yet here he is, if I can just remember he's on board, ready to calm the storm, ready to redeem, and to bring me to a level place.

Deo gratias.

St Aloysius Gonzaga

Preserve me, O God, I take refuge in you.
 I say to the Lord: 'You are my God.'
Lord, it is you who are my portion and cup;
 it is you yourself who are my prize.

You will show me the path of life,
the fullness of joy in your presence,
at your right hand happiness forever.

                                     Psalm 16 [15]: 1-2, 11

.        .        .

I made a conscious effort in my early 20's to memorize this psalm. (The final verse, 16.11, is the reason for the number appearing in my twitter handle and email address. Nothing to do with the King James Bible.) I struggled constantly against the sense that what I really needed to be happy was something 'out there', somewhere beyond me. If only I could reach it--the right job, the right guy, the right whatever--then I would really be happy.

No. I saw in this psalm that real happiness comes from somewhere else entirely. It's not from out there, but originates in here. It is the peace that surpasses all understanding, not the perfect situation, that settles the soul. In comparison to many, the storms in my life are just light rain showers. Still, I need shelter, and the psalmist reminds me that the only shelter I can count on is God: preserve me O God, I take refuge in you.

St Romauld

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 3:12-14

 

 

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high;

I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me.

But I have calmed and quieted my soul,

like a weaned child with its mother;

like a weaned child is my soul within me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forevermore.

Psalms 131[130] :1-3.

 

 

'I have calmed and quieted my soul'? Maybe so, for St Romauld. Not so for me. Nor would I fare better with the readings for week 11 of the year: happy the one who fears the Lord, because it will go well for her. No, I am not feeling especially triumphant today, not like one who has mastered my fretful soul.

 

There is something that intrigues me, though, about the combination of readings for St Romauld. The first reading is from Philippians, and it includes Gregory of Nyssa's favorite phrase: 'forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal...' The psalm says 'rest'; Philippians says, 'get on with it!'

 

Maybe resting is getting on with it. That seems to have been the case with St Romauld. He became a Benedictine, then a hermit. He wanted to be alone with God; he sought a prayerful solitude. To attend to the presence of God in his cell and to be quiet was active spiritual engagement.

 

I like that, but I am not entirely sure how it helps. Time alone is rare, and silence is hard to find. Everywhere I go there are things that insist on being done. At home there are more domestic chores than hours in the week; at work there is always something else waiting after each task is completed. Even walking to work, errands interrupt the quiet--whether I do them immediately or not, I am reminded of what is to be done. My soul catches the unsettledness of the house, the daily timetable, the office. And my activity is far from spiritual engagement.

 

I cannot do it: I need more grace.

 

St Romauld, pray for us.

St Anthony of Padua

I will hear what God the Lord will say;

For He will speak peace to His people,

to His godly ones;

But let them not turn back to folly.

Surely His salvation is near to those who fear Him,

That glory may dwell in our land.

Lovingkindness and truth have met together;

Righteousness and peace have kissed each other.

Truth springs from the earth,

And righteousness looks down from heaven.

Psalm 85 [84]:9-11

 

For God, who said, "Light shall shine out of darkness," is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.

2 Corinthians 4:6 NASB

 

. . .

 

It won't be the first time I observe that the 'truth [that] springs from the earth' begs for a Christological reading. The whole exchange of intimacy between love and truth, righteousness and peace, it seems to me, signals the righting of the relationship between Creator and creation. It is the work of the incarnation, accomplished in Christ.

 

But I confess I never attended carefully enough to the preceding verse. Together with the passage from 2 Corinthians (which runs from 3:15 to 4:6), the Christological significance is hard to miss. The glory of The Lord comes to dwell in the land ('and we have beheld his glory...' John's gospel says), and in our hearts. (I can't help but add, though, that we have this treasure in earthen vessels--so says 2 Cor 4:7--so that the power is seen as coming from God and not from us.)

 

Glory. It is the glory of God that is revealed in the meeting of lovingkindess and truth, in the kiss of justice and peace. The glory of God is in Christ. And it looks like love.

 

Deo gratias.

St Barnabas

The Lord has made known his salvation;

has shown his justice to the nations.

He has remembered his truth and love

for the house of Israel.

Psalm 98 [97]

. . .

 

 

Justice. Truth. Love. Israel and the nations.

 

I am always struck by the juxtapositions in the psalms. It's as if the psalmist wants us always to bear in mind that God's justice is never without God's love, and God's love is never without God's truth; that God's particular love for Israel is a love that takes in the whole world, that the chosenness of God's people is a vocation to bless, to be a blessing to the world. This is who God is--the one who loves in truth, the one who is justice and mercy and peace.

 

God is always bigger than we thought. And no matter how long we follow Jesus, or how deep our faith is, we are still susceptible to paradigm shifts, to a still more profound encounter with the Lord. How often I coast along, like my car in neutral on a gentle downhill slope. I am not looking for the paradigm shift. Am I even looking for Jesus? Am I so sure I am following that I have stopped looking ahead on the road for his footprints, his figure in the distance?

 

Probably, yes. More often than I think. I forget to look up, to ask for the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the mind to know, and the heart to love God. Would I hear the Spirit calling, as the community heard the Spirit calling Barnabas and Paul? I am not so sure. Fortunately God remembers, even when I don't, keeps calling me forward. By God's grace, eventually, I look up, and I see Jesus there, God's Truth and God's Love, and I know he hears the prayer of my heart, and I am grateful.

 

Deo gratias.